Chapter Text
He huffed in annoyance, reaching over and crossing off yet another sequence of equations and instructions residing in his invention-ideas notebook. He sat at the old wooden desk that was pushed up against the wall, screwdriver in hand as he put together the shell of his smoke bomb with parts and wires littered around the space around him.
He had the design of the shell of the smoke bomb down, and based on his previous attempts it isn't affecting whether the smoke bomb is faulty or not. The inner shell was made of cardboard he had hot-glued in the best circular shape he could, which was more of a hexagon, with a small cone on the end that had bits of aluminum foil added on for shape, the outer shell was made of a thin malleable metal which he painted white, and added a little face onto it. The little ghost resembled the Italian… or Japanese game that was raging in the United States decades ago.
But he was having difficulty with the inner mechanism, it wasn't a complicated invention, the process was fairly simple, and it frustrated him to hell that more than half the time it would fizzle out, or explode. But at least now he knows how to make non-lethal grenades. He pulled his notebook over, hunched over as he scribbled in it. He needed to adjust the ratio of how much of the moderator he had to the other components, which could stop it from exploding, but this doesn't take into account when it just didn't work, then maybe he needed to change what fuel he was using along with the levels for the oxidizer. He sluggishly scrawled his notes, leaving black ink smugged against his palm, his head propped up by his hand as his eyes drifted close.
He lay in the middle of a large lake, drifting slowly across the calm dark waters in a circular floatie like a doughnut. Trees bordered the entire lake like a dome of a big gentle protective hug. The bright full moon peaking out from the tops of the branches to illuminate the scene. He sunk deeper into the floatie as he exhaled, swaying his feet in the water, unable to see past his toes in the inky water. He leaned back, resting his head against the tube, the ends of his curls dampening as they drifted into the water. He closed his eyes as he could still see the calming glow of the moon through his eyelids.
Something brushed along his leg. Unperturbed, he kicked his foot away. Must've been some seaweed. A small frown tugged at his lips. He was too far out into the lake for seaweed to touch him. He slowly lifted his head, brows furrowed, as suddenly, another slimy tendril wraps around his leg. A gasp rips out of him as he quickly yanks he feet out from the water, focusing on not tipping over on the floatie. He intensely inspected the water below to him with no avail, the moonlight only served to illuminate the top of the trees and around a foot of water from the surface. His floatie was suddenly ripped out from under him and he was flipped into the now frigid waters. He gasped, choking on the salty water rushing into his lungs, a sense of vertigo filling him as he rotated in the water, he broke through the surface, coughing up heaps off water, his sinuses burning painfully. After a few moments, he looked around, confused and alarmed. No trees greeted him, or rocky shores…only ocean… there were only miles and miles of ocean in every direction he looked in, he turned quickly, his breath hitched. He was stranded. He shivered violently, his legs starting to cramp from the freezing water as he trod water.
A slimy tendril constricted around his ankle and he was yanked under. He flailed in the water, he tried desperately to tug his foot out of the iron grasp, large bubbles of air leaving his mouth as he cried in desperation. The tentacles grasp grew tighter, excruciatingly so. Even underwater he could hear the sharp snap of his leg. He could no longer try to wriggle out of its grasp without seizing in pain. He couldn't do anything as it pulled him further down the dark waters except lean forward and desperately claw at it, digging in with his nails. The only damage he inflicted was to his own mangled leg, now filled with deep red scratches. He sobbed, more of the precious air leaving his lungs in bubbles as it was replaced with the burning water, he was dragged through the deep until he reached the floor of the ocean. Shivering violently, body spasming from lack of oxygen, his arms floating over his head, he was met face to face with a giant glowing orange eye, its iris the only thing illuminating the inky water. Its limbs swirled around him hypnotically in the water, before one latched onto his uninjured leg, then one on his arm, then one on his other arm, then his torso. It slowly and agonizingly began to pull off his limbs, his muscles stretching excruciatingly. First, he felt his tendons snap, disconnecting his muscles from the bones, then his ligaments, dislocating them, then the skin began to tear, pulling off his limbs like you would do to a Barbie. His limbs were ripped off, blood muddying the water, and they floated to the sea floor. Then all that remained was his head, the giant squid stared at him, no longer interested, let go and his head floated to the sea floor as well. He watched as the squid propelled itself away and out of his view. He could feel the acute piercing pain in every limb that was no longer existent.
He inhaled deeply with a start, jolting and lifting himself up off the desk and running a hand down his face. He could feel all the indents and marks on his face from where he fell asleep on his notebook.
He wasn't sure if he had the energy to do this tonight. It felt as if someone had stuck dumbbells between the gaps in his bones, anchoring him down from where he sat. Not like that really mattered, he just felt a little tired, when there were innocent people out there, suffering and in danger just because he was too lazy to help them. He could help them, he could save them, but instead, he sat around on his ass, not even smart enough to perfect the design and mechanism of a simple smoke bomb.
Pinching his arm, he forced himself up, stretching with his arms over head, pulled on his suit, tied his hair back, clipped on his mask, and slid the defective smoke bombs into his pockets; clambered out the window and set off into the night.
He had a somewhat successful night, he had stopped a few muggings, made a trip to the lighthouse to find a replacement job for the one eraser busted, and stopped a robbery on a family-owned bakery cafe. The fatigue was settled deep into him, he trudged along the rooftops sluggishly, looking forward to crashing onto his cot and sleeping in until noon, until he heard a scuffling of feet in a nearby alleyway. He hopped over onto another rooftop, crouching as he watched the scene below. There were four people total, one large man with a mutation quirk, the face of a rhino with a large nose, and a large muscular and bulky build, and a smaller, scrawnier man next to him, he was unable to tell what quirk he had. Then there were two girls in the corner, gripping each other, dressed in small dresses and heels, one girl shakily held a small voltage taser out in front of her as the other cried behind her. They must have been heading home after going clubbing when they got pulled into the alley by these two. The rhino-man stomped over to her with a deep laugh, smacking away the taser, it fell to the concrete with a dull thud.
Alright, it was time to intervene. He stood with a sigh, stretching his hands overhead as his back cracked, then jumped into the alley, landing on one knee in front of the girls, his head bowed before he straightened out, his joints cried in protest as he did so, but he easily ignored it since it probably looked super badass.
“Who the f*ck are you?!” The scrawny man exclaimed, gesturing to him as he looked up to the rhino-man in confusion. He said nothing, pulling out his bo-staff and taking a step forward, skillfully swinging it in front of himself defensively. The Mutation quirked man scoffed.
“Leave. This doesn't involve a child such as you.” The absolute unit of a man said coldly. He spared a glance to the girls behind him, still clutching each other in a half hug, shaking as one sobbed and the other had tears falling down her cheeks silently. He may as well try to distract the men for a while. He was unsure if the girls were able to contact the authorities in their current position, he pressed a button on the back of his mask discreetly, playing it off as if he had a scratch, it meant Prai would send the dropped location to the detective who would send the nearest officers.
“Like how me and your mother were involved last night?” He asked, continuing to swing the bo-staff in front of himself continuously as he took a step forward. The smaller man said nothing, fuming from the ears.
“This is your last warning, just because I don’t want to beat up a kid, doesn't mean I won't.” The rhino man snarled. The vigilante gasped in mock offense, pausing the defensive twirling of his staff to lean on it like a walking stick, popping out his hip. He was about to open his mouth to rebuke when the large fist came his way, he quickly lifted his bo-staff, pushing the fist away from his face at the last second. He dropped into a low defensive stance, and darted between the man's legs, jamming his bo-staff into the back of one of his knees while he stomped on the other one, didn't do much except have him stumble, he used the time he had and dashed over to the scrawny man, he kicked off the wall, propelling himself as he spent a spinning heel kick to the mans face, the steel plated end of his boot colliding into the mans nose, his head flying back. He landed into a crouch, quickly rising, when suddenly a bulky fist connected with the side of his face, shattering a part of his mask as the mans knuckles connected to his eye.
Huh. He didn't think someone so big would be so fast.
He was sent flying back into the alley wall, the sound of his skull hitting the brick reverbing in the alley. He scrambled up, his head pounding nauseatingly, as he gripped his bo-staff in front of himself defensively. The skinny man was still clutching his nose, holding his head back with streams of blood rushing down his chin, it was probably broken. The rhino man stood directly in front of him, he glanced over to the corner of the alley, relieved that the girls were gone. Unfortunately, rhino guy had also realized the girls were gone at the same time, pissed, the man charged him again but this time he ducked and rolled in between his legs, jamming his bo-staff between the man’s legs midstep, sending the man tumbling forward, knocking his face into the brick wall. The advantages of being short, I guess. He roared, gripping his horn in pain. It had snapped in half and fell to the ground.
Payback.
Maybe he could snatch the broken bit and sell if on the black market, although it wasn’t ivory, rhino’s horns still sold for a lot. He popped up from behind him, swinging his bo-staff like a baseball bat and connecting it with the back of the mans head, although it was brutal, he had to. The man crumpled to the floor. The vigilante turned and looked at to the smaller man, still gripping his flowing nose, his eyes wide with surprise, looking like he was about to run. The vigilante clicked his tongue, conflicted, he heard the sirens approaching in the distance. He’ll need to hurry this up. He rushed forward, kicking the man in the face, he swore loudly. This poor guys nose. The man fell onto the bus as the red and blue lighting came down the street. He wiped the dust off his hands and pants, satisfied. He stepped back, walking over to the end of the alleyway to climb up the fire escape when a hand shot out and gripped his ankle, sending him flying down to land gruffly on his chin. He groaned, seeing the lights from the police sirens fill the dark alleyway. He scrambled up, the way he fell worsening his already bad severe concussion. Nasua swirled in his stomach. In the background of his mind he saw the rhino guy rising, but he was busy bent over gripping his knees. Three things happened at once.
The door of the police car slammed closed, the officers rushed forward and came into sight in the mouth of the alleyway, second, the criminals met each other's gaze with a knowing look before the larger man rushed straight to the mouth of the alleyway, barreling past the officers, and the skinnier man attempted to run over to the dumpster to the fire escape near where he stood. The vigilante swore, ignoring the crippling nasua, he climbed atop the dumpster, using his bo-staff to pull down the ladder of the fire escape and climbed up, the man following quickly behind him, trying to tug him down by his ankles.
“f*ck off, bro!” He yelled, trying to kick away his hands, he glanced over to the approaching officers. He got to the level area before the first set of stairs, at the first step before the hand grabbed his ankle again. He tripped, huffing as he got up and turned around, trying to tug his foot away from his grasp; he lifted himself up using the handrails and kicked him in the face again, more blood spouting down his already blood-stained face. His grasp stayed steady.
“Seriously let go!” He whisper yelled, sparing a glance to the officers near the dumpsters now, he was going to be at risk of getting caught with the criminals too if this kept up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the smoke bomb. It could explode. Or it would do nothing but scare the man. He pulled the ring and chucked it into his face. The man let go in surprise and he dashed up the stairs the best he could with a concussion, and a couple seconds later he heard a loud pop and swearing. So it exploded, then.
He stood in front of his sink, gazing into the cracked mirror. He had a flashlight sitting right side up, poorly illuminating the bathroom. His cracked mask lay to the side of the sink. He leaned forward, analyzing his pupils, one was large and fully dilated while the other was small. He pursed his lips, so definitely a concussion. He gingerly prodded at the multihued skin around his right eye, wincing as he did so. It didn't look too bad. The bruise was still in the early stages, red and slightly discolored, but not swollen shut, still inflamed, but overall a good sign. He had a cut running through his eyebrow, dried crusted blood smeared around it. He clicked his tongue, he really hoped he wouldn't need stitches, they were a pain in the ass to do. He prodded and poked and pulled at his skin a while longer as he stood in front of the dingy mirror. He leaned back, surveying his appearance with a small frown. He didn't like how he looked. Not in the way that his eyes were far too large and would scare people, or his round face, but his general state. He was scrawny and gaunt. Pale, making his freckles stick out like stars. Deep puffy eye bags and dry tangled frizzy curls. He especially didn't like how he looked with bruises. A sight he was obviously very much accustomed to with his hobbies, but a strange sense of nostalgia-filled him whenever he would look at them for more than a fleeting glance in the mirror. He wasn't sure for something to be nostalgic they had to be based on happy memories, because this sure isn't. It was rare that he was ever visibly severely bruised, but it still happened. Most of the time it was from kacchan, but the other times…
Izuku still remembers his mother introducing him for the first time. In a chuck-e-cheese. He was six. They sat in a booth, the man and his mother on one side with him on the other, using the crayons to draw on a provided map while he stole glances at him. He wasnt sure how he felt about him when he first met him, but he thought, as long as his mother was happy, thats all that mattered. He made her laugh. Even if in the end he made her cry too.
In Izuku’s mind, he never struck any strong labels onto the man whoes name he could no longer even remember. As a child he just thought it was normal to be treated that way and to adapt to it, that all families were that way. Now he just thinks of him as being not-so-nice all the time. The man that temporarily attempted to fill in as a father for him, did care for his mother, he loved her, and he could tell in the first few months he had tried to love Izuku aswell. They just never fully clicked, a clash in personalities.
The man had many positive attributes, he was funny, always telling lots of jokes and stories in social settings, charismatic, into sports and watching the game down at the bar with his friends, romantic date nights with his mother and a love for action movies, whisky, and collecting old vinyls. However, he had other not so savory traits that were swept under the rug around other people. Anger issues, high reactive and high strung, an exspolosive man inept to change, controlling with high expectations. Alcoholic like a large sum of many other adults in japan.
As Izuku got older with this man in his life, he recalled how the tone of the household would shift depending on the moods of the adults returning home. He distantly remebered how he would press his ear against his bedroom door, listening to the small giveaways meaning the man had a bad day. How harshly the door was shut, if he tossed his briefcase by the door or onto the couch if he would step out of his shoes or kick them off. He payed special attention to how hard the man would open and close the cabinets in the kitchen while he made himself a cup of coffee. All these factors decided whether Izuku would brave out into the kitchen or living room without his mother present.
He recalls a certain hazy memory frequently, somewhat unsure if it really even happened at all the more he thinks about it. It had been the summer he turned seven. His mother was away working her twelve hour shift at the hospital like she did everyday, so he spent the day by himself, sprawled out on the couch, watching an all-might cartoon or rewatching one of the mans many documentaries and eating snacks. He had blankets, hero figures and plushies on the couch, then paper, crayons and his snacks littered across the coffee table. He picked up a bowl- or maybe it was a plate- no, no, it was a bowl, it was his favorite ceramic bowl that his mother had bought him from a hero convention. He knew it was expensive so he always made sure to carry it using both hands.He let the tv run as he padded into the kitchen, humming along to the jingle of an add that was playing for the hero themed fast food chain and slowly bopping his head. He grabbed a stool to clamber up on, getting the goldfish out the cupboard. He poured the goldfish from the big cardboard box into his bowl. The front door slammed shut, he flinched, spilling some of the fish onto the floor. He quickly moved to set the large box back onto the counter top, and in his haste he knocked his elbow into his favorite ceramic bowl tumbling to the tile, it shattered and sent glass sprawling all over the kitchen floor, goldfish littered between them. He gasped, getting off the stool and quickly falling to his knees, gathering the broken shards into his palm, slicing up his fingertips. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he felt his blood rushing to his head, he bit his lip to try and stop it from quivering, using the back of his hand to rub at his eye between reaches for the shattered pieces.
He didn't need to crane his neck up to know he was there. He could feel it- the anger radiating from him. It had been a bad day. He looked up with wide eyes. The light shone from behind the mans head, acting as a halo and effectively making it impossible to discern his features, but he knew his face would be screwed up in a scowl. The man was still in the process of taking off his tie, one hand pulling the red knot away from his neck. He cradled the broken shards in his palms, the stabbing pain in his knees evident he wasn't thorough. He stayed still, observing the man like a deer caught in headlights. His lip wobbled and he bit on it to make it stop. The man surveyed the scene, taking a step closer, he froze as the crunch of the goldfish under his foot seemingly echoed throughout the kitchen. The man balled his fists at his side, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he tilted his head up, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Get up. Now” It seemed he had trouble forcing the words past his mouth; still pinching the bridge of his nose. Izuku stayed frozen. He didn't know why, maybe he thought the man would be lke a t-rex, and if he didn’t move he wouldn't be able to see him, or if he was just so scared he was immobile. A hiccup escaped the boy. The man suddenly glared down at him, marching over and grasping his arm firmly, yanking him up. Izuku focused on keeping the broken shards from tumbling out of his grasp and breaking even further.
“The hell did I just tell you?! You're getting blood all over the floor! Don't you ever think?” The man exclaimed, gesturing down to the boy's bloody knees, small but visible shards of glass protruding from them, then down to where he was kneeling and the small smudges of blood on the tile.
“When I talk, you listen.” He shouted. Izuku kept his head bowed, watching a droplet of blood run down his fingertip. His grip on Izuku’s arm tightened as he rattled the boy.
“I know you're not deaf! You do exactly what I say, exactly when I say it! Listen here you little smartass, you act like you're so high and mighty and you know everything all the time because i got news for you! You dont! Im smart, you're dumb. I'm big, you're little. I'm right, you're wrong. And there's nothing you can do about it!” He exclaimed, repeatedly driving his finger into the boys chest to prove his point.
He glanced up at the man through his lashes, his vision blurred with tears. He nodded.
“Yes sir…” He mumbled waterly. The man surveyed him a moment longer. “Im sorry.” Izuku confessed. The man stayed silent for a few moments longer, a scowl painted across his face.
“Yah, well, if you were smarter you would do better.” He said harshly before letting go of him, shoving him back as he stepped away, adjusting his tie.
“If your mother asks where I am, just say i went back to the office for some extra work.”
“Yes, s-sir.”
“And i ain't your damn maid.” He snarled, pointing to the mess on the kitchen floor. “You aren't a baby, I expect this to be clean by the time im back.” He said coldly.
“Yes, sir.”
Then the man walked over to the door, put his shoes back on, grabbed his briefcase after a moment of hesitation, then left. Izuku grabbed a small empty cardboard box and set it onto the floor, crouching down as he dumped the shards into it. He sniffled, bting at his lip to stop it from quivering. He tried to be quick, he dropped yet another shard into the box, but due to his blurred vision, he had just missed it and it fell back onto the tile, snapping in half. That was it. He fell back onto his butt and sobbed and sniffled, struggling to breathe. His chest ached. Pulling his knees to his chest, quickly wiped the tears of his cheeks with the back of his hands harshly; acting as though his tears were the only evidence he was crying.
After a great deal of time, in which he slowly rocked himself back and forth of the kitchen floor, he finally calmed his crying down to a symphony of sniffles and occasional whimpers. He then continued on his hands and knees, picking up the shards of glass.
He really liked that bowl.
Afterward he sat atop the bathroom counter, a pair of long tweezers in hand as he plucked out the shards in his fingertips and palms, then his knees, adding disinfectant as he went. He knew the drill. Sometimes Kacchan would act a little mean and push him or something, adn Izuku would fall and get gravel stuck under his skin, and he didn't want to have to bother his mother or make her needlessly worry, so he became a bit of a pro at doing it himself. His mother would probably be tired or too busy anyway, and he would feel guilty for asking. She was a nurse. Right after his dad left- he might've been four or five at the time, he doesn't remember anymore- she switched to night shifts, they payed more and then she could walk him to and from school. Now that her new boyfriend was around, she was able to work day shifts and trust the man to step in to care for Izuku. Which he kind of did, in the beginning at least. But then over time it kind of fizzled out, and Izuku was expected to be old enough to manage himself by the man.
If he had to pick between her new boyfriend or his father, he doesnt know who he would pick. He has hazy, barely existent memories of him. Sitting at his feet at christmas while he opened presents, his deep rich laugh, a face he could no longer remember; the last distinct thing he could remember of him was raised voices, smashed glasses, and a slammed door. His mother wouldn't let Izuku see any pictures or videos of his father. She said she threw them away after he left.
Izuku saw how the ghost of his fathers presence haunted their house, suffocating his mother. It was evident in the way she carried herself, the hunched back and the way she would nervously grasp at her hands like how she would if Izuku didn’t stay right next to her in public. He noticed all the other small signs as he followed closely behind her, watching her silently with wide eyes.
He would probably pick neither. Just chose to live with just him and his mom, but he understood she needed another person, how lonely she would become if she didn't, but that doesn't mean he necessarily liked it.
He groaned, rolling off of his cot and onto the floor with a dull thud. He lay on the floor for quite some time, resting his hand on his stomach as he gazed up at the discolored ceiling. Spots of water damage littered it, as well as spots of black mold where the walls met the ceiling. He wondered if that could make him sick. It would make normal people sick to live with black mold over an extended period of time. If he got sick and died would the issue be solved? Or would the spores linger in his lungs even after hes dead? And on the same vein, if he was poisoned and died from it, when he came alive again, would his system be clear or would he be on the verge of death? And would he only come back alive again once his metabolism processed just enough to keep him from dying? If it was extremely large doses of toxins or poisons that he processed, how long would it take his body to metabolize it? Would he be able to be sent into a coma that is just death for an extended period of time? He needed more data. His thoughts of conducting experiments on himself and documenting research was interrupted by his stomach growling loudly.
He forced himself up, trudging over to his kitchenette and opening his mini-fridge. He frowned. It was empty except for a couple of packets of ketchup, sriracha, and a small jar of half-eaten peanut butter. He surveyed his cupboards, they were all empty except for a half-full bottle of vodka. Alright, what the sh*t. How is he even out of a cup of noodles? He thought he had a practically endless supply of those. He ran a hand down his face and sighed. He was supposed to go grocery shopping yesterday but he got so preoccupied with building his smoke bombs he forgot.
He huffed, walking over to his cot and kneeling down, pulling up the loose floorboard right underneath his cot and pulling out a small metal box. He pulled out some cash after counting to make sure he would have around just enough. He put the box back. He had snatched the cash out of a serial muggers wallet he caught the other night. He thought for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Yah, he deserves it. He had the cash to spare. He would go to an actual grocery store instead of just the gas station where he would buy things like instant ramen, energy drinks, twinkies, chips, then wait outside after he paid someone to go buy him vodka.
This worked out well anyway. He had some errands he needed to run anyway. He needs to stop by Dagobah Beach to scavenge for any small parts he could use for his inventions, then stop at a (only somewhat sketchy) specialized technology place to see if he could find some pieces to fix his mask.
He changed into his old worn looking jorts, too big and reaching past his knees, and a baggy plain white tee shirt that said “t-shirt” across the front of it; which he absolutely loved. He had snagged it for himself as soon as he saw it in that thrift store. He grabbed his yellow backpack, holding his general notebook and some pens, along with his damaged mask and his headphones. He left room in case he wanted to fit anything small he found at the beach into his bag. He tied up his hair after finger combing his hair and deeming it too messy to worn down; frowning as he surveyed his forming black eye and split brow in the mirror. He wished he owned sunglasses. He put on his chunky red shoes then left.
He walked down the aisles of the bright store, the small metal pieces and parts from the beach clinking dully inside his backpack, muted by the small bag placed on top inside of it filled with wiring and some circuit boards to replace the damaged ones in his mask. He gently swung his basket back and forth as he browsed to find the cheapest option of instant noodles; a staple in his diet. He swept a few packets into his basket and deemed himself done. He had some noodles, assorted nuts, some pears, bread, strawberry jelly, a couple bottles of water, and some mini-muffins. That was already so much more diverse then what he normally eats. He felt a little proud of himself.
He made his way to the check out, ignoring all the strange- mostly concerned- looks he was getting and instead focused on the trivia bit on heroes playing from the ‘get your hands up’ radio playing on the store's speaker. He stood in line, swaying from foot to foot with the music they were playing now, mapping out all the best hiding places and vantage points around the store. He stepped forward, emptying his basket onto the conveyer, hesitating before he grabbed the gummy worms of the hook and added them onto the pile. His utility belt needed a restock anyway. A tired-looking middle-aged woman began to scan his items, smacking her gum. She had black hair with gray roots and smelled of cigarette smoke. She looked his up and down once, lingering a second longer on his black eye, before she began to scan his items. He was fishing out his wallet when a familiar voice rang out behind him.
“Listener? Kiddo, I thought that was you.” Present mic said with a gentle laugh. Izuku turned around, surprised. This man had the ability to run into him like to no- except maybe Eraserhead- which is crazy because they didn't even live in the same area. Mic was holding his own basket, his hair in his typical half up half down style. Izuku watched as Mic’s smile faltered momentarily as he took in the boys face. The mans brows furrowed slightly, but Izuku’s attention was brought away as the woman at the cash register cleared her throat. She told him his total and his heart sank a little. This place really was more expensive than the gas station. He pulled all his cash out his wallet, counting it under his breath, faltering as he realized he was just a few bucks short. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Then Izuku felt a little mortified because it seemed Mic must've realized at the same time. He put a gentle hand on the boys shoulder, stepping forward.
“Don't worry about it kiddo, I got it.” He said with a soft smile.
“No, pres- Yamada, sir, you shouldn't, I’ll put something back.” He corrected himself quickly.
“No, no, as I said, don’t worry about it, I want to.” He interrupted, giving Izuku a look. The ‘im doing it and you can't stop me’ but kind version. He ruffled the boys already messy hair, before pulling out his card and inserting it into the chip reader. Izuku thanked him, then the bagger who gave him his bag, and awkwardly stood the the side, unsure if he should just leave now. Yamada leaned against the sides of the conveyor belt, angled towards him as his items were being scanned.
“How’re you doing kiddo? I feel like I haven't seen you at the library in ages.” He said. Izuku glanced away sheepishly.
“Im doing good. Yah- um… if I have something i need to work on I typically just go to a coffee shop. I kind of, uh, graduated. I got my high school diploma online.” He murmured with a small smile, one hand gripping his backpack strap. Yamada stood up a little straighter, looking surprised.
“Midoriya! What!? Thats amazing! How long ago?” He asked with a wide smile.
“At the end of last month.” He admitted. It now neared the middle of September. Only a couple of months ago he believed he wouldn't be able to achieve a higher education past elementary and some of middle school, but he signed up for it online. it only needed his name- which they didn’t post online or disclose to anyone-, he studied, then took placement tests and AP exams for every required class and some extras to get an advanced diploma, he passed all of them with flying colors and received his digital diploma and a physical one through the post office a few weeks later.
“Thats great kiddo. What’re you gonna do with all your free time now? Start college? I bet you have a bunch of scholarships lined up for ya.” He said with a proud smile, paying for his own groceries than accepting his bag and thanking them. Izuku shook his head.
“Uh… I-im not really sure yet.” He admitted, walking alongside Yamada outside the store.
“Thats ok. No need to rush into the next big stage of your life.” He laughed lightly, his eyes flicking over the boys face. “Spend the time enjoying your youth. Make memories. Try out new hobbies and extracurriculars, hang out with your friends, get into a bit of trouble.” He smiled, gently bumping his shoulder into Izuku’s.
Speaking of trouble… how’d you get that nasty bruise, Kiddo?” He questioned, looking down at him with his full attention. It seemed the only expression he let show on his face was curiosity. Izuku’s pace faltered slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. It was common for Yamada to question him about how he got any of his injuries that were visible to the man.
“I-i fell.” He responded automatically. Oh yah, nailed it. Yamada looked at him with a confused smile and a raised brow.
“You fell?” He repeated, desbeiliving and looking slightly amused. Well. That excuse used to work with his mother. Spin her some story how his shoe was untied and he tripped onto a rock. It always worked. She would fret over him for a while then berate him for being so clumsy. It was now evident Yamada questioned things more than his mother would. It seems he would either have to double down and give a bunch of details or backtrack.
“...I fell onto someone's fist.” He provided, fiddling with his backpack straps as they approached the mans car. A frown tugged at the man’s lips as he looked down at the boy. So it backfired either way.
“It was an accident! I was at the laundromat waiting behind someone in line, and I guess they had a strength quirk, and I've always been told I’m too quiet, and I accidentally snuck up on them and startled them!” He rushed out, attempting to defend himself, waving his hands in front of himself in protest. They stood near his car. Yamada let out a concerned sigh, looking down at him sympathetically.
“Kiddo, if you ever need help-”. He was cut off by his phone ringing. He fished his phone out of his pocket with one hand, looking at his notifications briefly before pressing the phone to his ear.
“Hey babe, whats goin on?” He questioned with furrowed brows. His face slowly morphed into disgusted surprise. He looked at Izuku, holding up one finger and saying he would be one moment, before walking over the tree planted alongside the sidewalk beside his car, his back to Izuku. Izuku did the one thing hes always been good at, and he ran, gripping his grocery bag to his chest, occasionally ducking behind parked cars.
A few minutes later Yamada turned around to find the boy missing. A frown tugged at his lips. He wasn't even particularly surprised.
